The Darkest of Knights
by Faegirl1976
Summary: It is the dark ages, a time where Vampires, Werewolves, and other supernatural creatures rule the Earth. Humans are mere pawns in a game of chess played by the clans of the Kindred. But the Kindred are slowly losing their hold and the humans are in danger
1. Chapter 1

Prelude

**The Dairy**

_The Dairy of King Ronovant the Great_

_31st of October, year of our Lord 1107 A.D._

_It has been 3 weeks since I sent out the Guardians. They should be near the Ruins of Zabath by now. Its glorious beginnings have long since been reduced to ruin and despair; it is a dark and gloomy place now. _

_Ahhh, memories; I was born there, what seems a lifetime ago. It was, while I was away at school, during my apprenticeship as a squire for Lord Mothran, that it happened. The terrible events changed all who prospered there, forever. It was those filthy savages, the pagans to the east. They came in the shroud of night and laid waste to our bastion of wealth and fortitude. My father, a most dear and wise King, led our troops bravely. I have never forgiven myself for not being there in his time of need. Only a handful managed to escape with their lives; my beloved consort softly tried to convince me there I would have surely died with him; after all, she said, these were no ordinary pagans – these were daemons, Vampires. I should have believed her – I should have believed. But I was young and foolish then, I dismissed it as ramblings of a superstitious people._

_It was 2 weeks later that I returned to Zabath. I returned only to mourn a great King and a beautiful city. When I arrived I found a servant of my father's court, his advisor Raline. It was late at night when I arrived, and I scarcely recognize him. I thought him vagrant treasure hunting. He was rummaging through the debris, franticly searching for something. It was only when he spoke that I knew who he was. As he spoke he hadn't even looked up, he hadn't even stopped his searching, he was aware that it was I – Alister Ronovant son of the former King of Thelusia. _

"_Alister," he said in a calming way. He always had a way of speaking which demand respect, but soothing at the same time. "I can't find the relic. Please help me find it."_

_I dismounted to help him in his pursuit. I needed no explanation; I knew the relic of which he spoke. It was a cross, said to be as old as the crucifixion itself. It was made of a metal that was stronger than any metal known and it was incrusted with a jewel, a very large ruby. It was no ordinary ruby though; it had some kind of liquid in it. It was a thick liquid, thick and red as blood. It had been entrusted to my father when he was just a boy of 12._

_It was near dawn when we found it. We had searched for hours with out speaking and suddenly there it was, glistoning in the darkness. Raline sighed; it was a sigh of a man who had finally found peace. He smiled and looked at me; he seemed weak and tired._

"_I trust this to you, Alister. You are as brave and good as your father. Take it and keep it safe. There are those who wish to destroy it, but they must not. If it is destroyed there will be an eternal night." He looked apprehensively at the sky. The sun had just started to rise and the horizon was bathed in glorious purples and pinks._

"_I don't have much time," he said quickly. "Please promise me you will keep it safe. When the time comes, you will know what to do."_

_There was urgency, in his voice, that kept me from asking questions, and for some reason the only response I could give was a slight nod. I just stood there motionless. Then, in a blink of an eye, he was gone. Just gone._

_That was 40 years ago next week. For 40 years I have been King, King of an inert people, and king of an inert land. I married my beautiful consort, my Elzibath, and became King of Flora, but that doesn't change the fact that I have been damned to rule the dead. Now with my wife dead a year and my son dead a week, I know what I must do. I made the ultimate sacrifice; I gave them my beautiful daughter. She is one of them now; she has taken up the role Raline left. She is now the protector of the cross; and what a cross she bares. I fear I'm too late._

_They should be at the ruins now; it will be another 3 weeks before they reach their destination. I pray to the Lord that they make it in time. Lord keep my Rebeccah safe in your loving embrace and forgive her, her sins. She does what she must for the greater good. _

_Diary of King Ronovant the Great_

_29th of November, year of our Lord 1107 A.D._

_This is Kristoph, Knight and nephew to a glorious King of Flora. I fill in for him tonight because it was his last wish for me to do so. My uncle is very weak and he is sleeping. I fear he will not see the marrow. The night of his last entry, the great King fell ill to a mysterious malady. None of the royal physicians know what it could be. He is dying and my heart aches he has to die a broken man. Unfortunately, it won't be the illness that is his demise._

_We are surrounded on every side by the daemons. I hear the people scream, I can smell the fire, burnt flesh, the blood. It has been weeks since there was any word from Rebeccah or the others. Our time has come, all we can do is pray they made it. Oh, beloved Becky, it is up to you now...you are the last of our clan. Live strong and good; and if you must die, die bravely fighting to the end. You never asked for this duty, you never wanted the gift. Now we place the whole of earth on your delicate shoulders. But you are the chosen one, remember that. You are the last hope..._

Part 1

**The Darkest of Knights**

_**Chapter 1:**_

Rebeccah sat straight up in bed. She awoke herself with her screams. Her long auburn curls were matted to her face with sweat and her white gown clung to her hourglass figure. Her full breasts were heaving with gasps of air she no longer needed to breathe. She looked around her suite as reality slowly crept back in – it was only a dream. It is always the same dream; her father dying, slaughtered in his sleep; her cousin's cries for help as the black figures over came him, his wife covering their baby, shielding her from an inevitable fate.

It had been almost a century ago since her family died. She was the last. She gripped the small cross necklace around her neck tightly. She remembered the night she left, remembered the embrace of a gift that she neither wanted nor asked for. That was almost 100 years ago and here she was still, looking no more than a girl of 15.

Rebeccah stood up and lit the oil lamp by her bed. It was barely sun down, she knew the sun wasn't completely gone yet. She could feel it calling to her. She had always been an early riser; possibly from the nightmares, but it served its purpose on occasion. She inspected herself in the reflection of the full length mirror in her room. There was none. Rebeccah sighed; she didn't know why she even bothered keeping the old thing. It was not as if she needed it. She had servants that tended to her hair and dress; besides, she had no reflection anyway. She always wondered about that, her sire said it was due to the unusual trauma of her embrace.

She knew her appearance well, though. Every decade or so, she would have a portrait done just so she would never forget what she looked like. She was lovely; her long, auburn hair curled naturally in long, blood-red ringlet's, her green eyes twinkled with life and mischief, her breast were full and her waist was thin, and her skin looked and felt as smooth as crème. She looked like her mother and had her spirit too; but she had her father's cunningness and skill. Educated and wise, she was as deadly as she was beautiful.

Rebeccah was startled out of her memories by a rap on the door. "Yes?"

"Mademoiselle, sorry to disturb, but an urgent message has arrived for you." The voice was that of her loyal servant Shame. He had been with her for many a year. He protected her as she slept and catered to her every desire. Those who knew the strapping brute well – and there weren't many - knew he was no mere servant. He was immortal, but not as Rebeccah was. He was a pirate and murderer, callous and cruel to the end, but completely devoted and in love with the beautiful creature of the night. He was the only one who still called her Becky, but only when the 2 were alone, in the privacy of their passion.

There was something in his voice that alarmed her and set her already acute senses on alert. She cracked open the door and took the scroll. Shame didn't say anything more, and was already walking away as she shut the door.

Rebeccah sat at her desk and looked at the parchment. She immediately recognized the seal. It was from the Prince….what did he want from her? She hadn't seen him in near 50 years. Her delicate brow crinkled as she opened the message and read slowly.

L

My Dearest Becca,

I hope this letter finds you well. Oh how I have missed your spirit. I wish I would have written sooner; under better circumstances, but I am desperate for your help.

You are well aware of Lord Alrid; the Norman Lord appointed to over see Leinster. This madman is tyrannical in his own right. Power hungry and blood thirsty, he gives the people barely what they need to survive, and that is only if they comply with his unreasonable demands. His laws and decrees make the people's lives miserable and unbearable. He over taxes, takes the land for his own, his military terrorizes and rapes the communities and their people. Just recently he has passed a new law stating that every Irish bride must bed with him and/or his fellow nobles on the night they wed. Failure to obey is punishable by death of the groom and both his and the brides entire family. The punishment for the unruly bride is a fate worse than death. I know you are asking what has this to do with us. We kindred rule from the night, humans are merely pawns to be moved around as we see fit, we don't meddle in their affairs. But, my love, there are rumors that I just can't ignore. Not after what has happened in the past few months.

Rumors have it that there is a Baali on the Lord's high council – actually seated at his right hand. This most trusted advisor is said to be a breathtaking female of great stature. She has long, jet black hair that hangs like silk across her pale, flawless face. The people say that those unfortunate enough to look into her icy eyes go mad. Those that survive an encounter with her are turned in to the mindless insane; both Kindred and kine a like.

Though, there is no reason, at the present time, to believe that this unusual female is Baali. She could very well be Malkavian; that is if she is immortal at all. It is very possible that she is nothing more than a powerful witch or sorceress. One thing is for certain; she uses potent magic and is sure to be a dangerous opponent.

Now Lord Alrid is claiming that his son, and only heir, has been kidnapped. The pagan community is being accused of this act. The word is that they took the child for use in satanic rituals. Rituals that would thwart his control and proper reign over the area. This has caused great disturbance, as the townships are extremely superstitious. The rebels, as well as most of the supernatural beings of the forest, have gone into hiding due to the recent increase of lynching, public hangings, and burnings. However, the Lord underestimated the tenacity of the pagan rebels. They were not taken in by the rumors and had launched an investigation of their own. It seems the boy is indeed missing…..through some rather unusual circumstances. But that is as far as the information goes. They didn't get very far before the Inquisition came to the area. They search every inch of the forests day and night, with the help of mercenaries and royal soldiers.

The Elders and I have discussed these issues and have decided to request the help you and a few others – all former Guardians of the Cross - to find the child and to aid in putting an end to this reign of terror that has caused most of us to go into hiding, for obvious reasons. The conspiracy must be revealed and the guilty punished. I can't help but feel it has something to do with Zabath…..I'm sorry to drag you back in this, but we need you.

I need you.

All My Love – Dearest.

Aramile

L

Rebeccah had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. There was something that felt wrong; if she could only put her finger on it. She looked up at Shame, who leaning on the frame of the now open door. She didn't have to say anything; his grave expression revealed he knew it was serious.

"When do you wish to leave," his voice was calm, but Rebeccah knew it was the calm before the storm. There was fire in the pirate's deep, brown eyes that she hadn't seen since they last left the company of Aramile de' Louise. His strong arms were crossed over his broad chest; his long dark hair was pulled back and tied with a leather strap. There was concern across his ruggedly, handsome face as he looked at her.

"Within the hour. We need to get as far as we can before sunrise. We have a long way to travel and there won't be many places for us to bed down for the day."

Aramile stood on the balcony staring off into the black night. His wine glass was sitting on the banister before him, empty. He was already feeling the effects of his personal vintage. The council was arguing in the room behind him, but he wasn't listening. He grew tired of the squabbling and left to get fresh air.

The moonless night was as still as the dead. There was an uneasy sensation in the crisp air; but, then again, it could just be he that was ill at ease. Either way, he wish those ancient fools would just leave him to his work. He was the Prince, was he not? How was he to rule with them griping about keeping with the traditions of the OLD? He knew what he was doing; he had been grooming for this, preparing, for 2 centuries! Now, a new dawn was upon them. New ways for a new century, his sire would say. He sighed as he thought of those insipid mortals. They were nothing more than food, mere cattle their only purpose was to sustain the master race. Aramile had always felt that giving them the freedom to rule amongst themselves was absurd; and it had gone on for way too long. He felt they should have taken the example of Constantinople. Those ridiculous mortals knew their place in the Golden City, Michael made sure of that. For a Toreador, he was a great, fearless leader. If they had only allowed him to take care of this problem in the beginning they wouldn't be put in the position they were in now. He would have put those miserable cows in their place long ago. It was ridiculous to hide from them. Sure the Inquisition was formidable, but they were human none the less. His sire would have never let this continue as long as it had.

With a howl, he slammed his fist against the marble banister, shattering the fragile crystal glass in the process. The others hadn't notice; they were still caught up in their frivolous debate. The slave girl, on her knees behind him, quickly rose to clean the mess. Aramile seemed unimpressed at the fact he just shattered a glass. The cuts on his hand were healed in a matter of seconds. Only when the young girl brought him another drink did he take notice in the activity around him. He snatched up the drink and glared down at her. She was quite fetching, for a cow. Too thin, though. Her dark skin was soft and warm; her heart was pounding in anticipation; her black eyes wide with fear. Maybe he would her as a snack later, but for now she was little more than an annoyance.

"Leave," he barked, sweeping his dark, blonde hair out of his icy, blue eyes! With a swift bow, she ran back in the room to await further orders.

Alone again, he allowed his thoughts to wander. This time, it was not the troubles of the land or the vapid elders behind him that captured his mind, but Rebeccah. Ahhh, Becca – beautiful, spirited Becca. She would soon arrive, as would the others. But, it was the Irish Beauty that made him anxious. His eyes closed as his thoughts drifted to memories of her. It had been near 50 years but he knew her smell, her taste. He knew her body well; he had mapped it gently with his hands, his mouth, many times. Her milky skin was as soft as silk, her hair like blood-red satin. She smelt of lavender mixed with the blood of a fresh kill. Her green eyes flamed with passion as she fed, as he touched her, as she fought bravely on a gory battlefield. Though he would never admit it to anyone – least of all her - , it almost destroyed him when she left with that filthy pirate. Aramile had great plans for her, still did. What a great wife she would make, ruthless and beautiful. Together, there would be no stopping them. They would rule both the Kindred and the Kine's world with a strong fist and even stronger will.

Though she sent no response, he knew she was on her way. He could feel her. Besides, she would never ignore a challenge, especially one that had to do with the Ruins. He never understood her sympathy for the race of Kine….survival of the fittest, he would tell her. She would only laugh in response. Her one flaw was the Ruins of Zabath and the memories of her human family. She never spoke of them in detail, but she talked in her sleep. Her dreams were a portal into her soul, the only way in. Becca was cautious when it came to showing weakness, though her wall came crashing down in her nightmares. Aramile never mentioned them, nor did she. Both pretended nothing was wrong.

The sound of a gavel banging on the desk was enough to wake him from his daydreams. Turning around, he noticed it was time for the feast. He walked into the large hall just as the dinner was being herded in.

"Welcome," he laughed, eying the lovely specimens being chained to a long iron rod that hung down from the roof. The handsome Tzimisce spread his massive arms out in a welcoming gesture. His muscles rippled beneath his coat, which hugged every inch of his fit, toned body. His eyes strolled along the forms of the voluptuous mortals that were selected for tonight's banquet. The spread consisted of men, women, and a couple of juveniles; prepared for the different tastes of the patrons.

"Shall we dine," he asked as each member of the council found their desired meal. Aramile was relaxed now. Work was through, for now, it is time to be festive.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

_The cool night breeze blew through Rebeccah's long, loose curls. The long shear night-gown she wore clung dearly to her curves, her bare feet made their way across the barren waste that was once the city of her ancestors. The glorious city was now nothing more than grouped stones and rocks, as well as a few trinkets that hadn't yet been excavated by rogue vandals. Slowly, toe to heal – toe to heal – toe to heal, she walked toward the pier. It briefly entered her mind that this was wrong; the pier had long since given way to the elements. But, there it was standing as strong as it ever had, waiting for a great ship to dock and deliver fine goods from the Orient. _

_The beautiful vampire walked on as if being pulled by some unseen force. As she walked the ruins began to come alive. She could hear the street venders barking their wares, the laughter of kids playing, and the church bells ringing. She could smell fresh bread from the bakery mixed with horse droppings and dust from the main road. All around her were the sounds and aromas of life. As her delicate feet touched the boards of the pier, though, it changed. The life had turned to death. The heat from some unseen fire burnt her skin. The smell of flesh burning and of blood stung her nose and throat. She put her hands to her ears to drown out the sound of children screaming in pain. Tears fell freely from her green eyes. She felt helpless, hopeless, but still she didn't stop, never looked back. _

_Rebeccah reached the end of the pier, the tormenters stopped their teasing and all was still once more. She stood there in the moonlit night. She could taste the salt from the rough seas as it sprinkled across her tear streaked face. Her gown was plastered to her body; she couldn't tell if it was muggy sweat or water. Her hair was drenched and she was uncomfortably hot. By now she was sobbing. She wanted to jump, to kill herself, but she knew it was fruitless. She didn't know if she could die. God had damned her to walk the Earth alone while those she loved died around her._

"_Rebeccah," the sound of her name startled her out of her pity. It was a familiar voice, a voice she hadn't heard in over a century. Rebeccah turned and screamed. There was her father, dead and burning. The skin of his outstretch arms were bubbling beneath the fire, he was writhing in agony._

"_Can't you see that I am burning?"_

Beccah sat up with a gasp. She listened to see if she had screamed. When no one came running, she sighed. Another dream, though this one was different. It seamed more real, not like a dream at all, not like the others. The bedding of the tent was soaked and she was sticky with sweat. She could hear Shame outside packing the horses. They weren't far from their destination, maybe another hour or so from the castle. She knew it was near dusk, but she knew the sun was still out. Her old adversary was calling to her, beckoning for her to step out and bathe herself in his splendid rays. She couldn't remember the last sunset she witnessed; it was so very long ago.

She laid back down in the cramped quarters, waiting till it was safe to emerge. It was comforting to listen to Shame piddle around, cooing pleasantries at the horses, giving out orders to the servants. She smiled as she thought about the side of the pirate that was reserved only for her. His beautiful smile, the way his eyes twinkled, the look on his face when he was in her, as he kissed her.

She was lost in reminiscences when Shame rapped on the tent.

"My Lady, it is almost the time to depart. I have your meal prepared and your dressings set out."

Without a word, the exquisite Lasombra climbed out of the tent and stretched. She looked around and saw one of the slave girls, one of her herd, sitting on large rock close to the fire that was starting to die. They brought only a handful of the servants with them on this trip, all of which were there for the sole purpose of sustaining her. She never killed them, only taking what she needed and no more. Shame would fixed them the smallest amount of belladonna mixed in hot tea to relax them so they would not be scared. She secretly liked the effects of the drug in their blood. It relaxed her as well and helped her to quickly forget the dreams of the day before.

Rebeccah sat close to the dazed servant and marveled at the girl's beauty. She was no more then 16, but already voluptuous and soft. Her pulse quicken with excitement as her mistress swept her blonde hair back and gently caressed her skin. Her liquid blue eyes closed as she felt the vampire's mouth kissed her neck and shoulder softly. The child only moan in pleasure as teeth sunk into her and Beccah started to drink.

Rebeccah had her fill in a few moments time, though feeding always felt as if it lasted forever. She released her hold and a few more servants came to take the girl away to be tended to. Relaxed and full, Beccah began to dress as Shame packed up the rest of their supplies.

'Shame, you know me too well,' she thought as she looked at the breeches and tunic he left for her. It was unheard of; a proper woman should never wear men's clothes, especially women of noble blood such as herself. Rebeccah had her proper dress, but she preferred beaches to petticoats when she traveled. It was easier to straddle a horse and to do what needs to be done. Petticoats and bustier were appropriate for dinners and handling affairs of the state, but they only get in the way on the road. Besides, it would irritate Aramile to see her dressed in such away, which amused her.

Within minutes, her locks were braid and she was dressed. Time was growing short and they were mere hours away from the Château de la Nuit and Aramile 'de Louise. Rebeccah mounted her mare and looked around to see if the servants and supplies were ready with the wagon. Shame sat upon his great steed and waited patiently for her to verify that things were in order. When all was accounted for, Beccah gave a nod and off they went. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of Shame's stomach; something didn't feel right about all of this. He watched the beauty on the horse beside him out of the corner of his eye and secretly vowed to himself that if anything happened to her, anything at all, that insipid Tzimisce would pay with his life. Prince or no, he would pay.

Aramile paced the floor of his library. He knew his guests were waiting for him in the first floor ballroom. Everybody but her had arrived. She should have been here by now. He had the most important Kindred in the nation in his house right now and he was up here waiting for word on Rebeccah. If the council knew of this they would think him weak and he couldn't have that. Aramile could feel his ire rise up inside of him just as there was a knock at the door.

"Yes!" He barked.

"Sorry sire, but the last of your guests have arrived and the others are getting restless."

"En conclusion, it is about time," Aramile breathed a sigh of relief and straightened his dress robes and long blonde hair. "Montrez-la dedans – show her in," he ordered and waved for the servant to show her in. "Oh, and Michal, tell my illustrious benefactors I will be down shortly. Gardez couler de VIN et le jeu de musique - keep the wine flowing and the music playing."

Aramile's smile tightened as Rebeccah walked in with her pet pirate. She was dressed like a peasant and just as filthy. Her radiant hair was tightly braided and her crème skin was covered in dirt. To top it off, she smelled of a stable-hand.

Not wanting to touch her, but pleased to see her, he stepped back and smiled wider. "Mon Chéri, so glad you could join us." Never acknowledging Shame, Aramile clapped his hands for the servants and turned his attention back to Rebeccah. "I'm sure you are longing for a bath, I'll have one drawn for you. As for your attire," he remarked looking her up and down with disdain. "I will have something more fitting brought to you. I'm sorry, my love, but my guests are waiting for me. I trust your man-servant remembers where your rooms are. Don't be to long, you have many friends waiting and you wouldn't want to disappoint."

Then without waiting for a reply, or even a hello, he left them alone with the servants. "My, my, not much has changed," Rebeccah laughed. Shame just smile and muttered, "I will ready your room, my Lady, and set out your dressings," with that he was gone.

Looking at the servant girls, Beccah sighed, "Well I supposed we shouldn't dawdle, the mister wouldn't like that, would he." Anyway, she could use a hot bath and a warm drink. She made her way silently to the bathing area and wondered what she had gotten into. Uneasy vibes were in the air and you could cut the tension with a knife. Shaking away the bad sensation, she thought about the bath and how wonderful it would feel to be civilized again. It had been days since she felt like a lady. She would worry about her duty later, for now she would pamper herself.


End file.
